I. You too.

May 20

Love grows in hairy armpit

It grows the hair big

and the scent of love

that we both believed was tough

becoming faint

and the stink of hairy malice

murdering it

overpowering the gentleness

chocking its throat

with the bunch of thick hair

grown in the armpit

wondering myself,

couldn’t love been dragged bit down

fed by the holy breasts

and never seen as clown

in the showdown?

myself..

Nov 28

Stranger

It is heavy cloud bursting that is making him all wet. Tiny droplets are romancing with his revolutionary beard that needs to be trimmed; says sun’s last hazy beam. His long grey coat has absorbed the agony of cold water, his slight shivering is stressing on his infant-ish urge for motherly comfort and his torn shoes have absolutely become the evidence of his exhaustion.

Transition of time is phenomenally beautiful; it’s blatantly dark now. He struggles with the rough weather and weak self, takes his depressing steps along the blue lake and halts on the only bulbing ‘Alice Art Gallery’ board, welcoming him in this rainy storm. Yellow dim light, coming from the door’s upper case, expresses romance and secrecy simultaneously. He comes under the wooden shade, curses his amnesia about umbrella; his forehead’s wrinkles are upsetting.

Air hears his icy breathing when he drops his coat off and looks at the awaiting doorknob. .. His erratic self doesn’t knock and pushes the door slightly. It’s pleasant to see her painting on canvas. His forehead wrinkles vanished and sluggish smile is influencing his lips now.

He is observing keenly; her shoulder length dark brown hair is dancing with her hands. Ages passing by and there, she turns back for more red paint. Some musical expressions in her eyes appear and disappear in a nano second of the moment she looks back. She gently overcomes her turbulent emotions, smiles and says ‘Hi’. Clever woman, his heart suddenly whispers.

… He scratches his head, chins up, and sees her noticing his trouble. He doesn’t say a word and looks down, on the wet floor.

“You need to change your clothes, let me show you the way. She says adding a gentle smile, “Ohh, then you can buy my paintings”.

He follows her obediently.

Jul 28

mehreenkasana:

Arooj Aftab is a fellow Pakistani singer. This song by her is beautiful in a nostalgic way. The strokes in the beginning are magical.

And if you understand Urdu, you’ll fall in love with the lyrics.

(Reblogged from mehreenkasana)

wajabobcrankypants:

Arooj Aftab - Man Kunto Maula [Rebuild Pakistan]

(Reblogged from wajahat-deactivated20120311)

Played 20 times

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

wajabobcrankypants:

Udhero Na - Arooj Aftab

(Reblogged from wajahat-deactivated20120311)

Jul 10

Practical talk:

(grandmother, while making curry, age 71)
Her: I'm tired of listening to young people say that they want a happy life, happy career, happy partner and all that happy stuff without facing pain. When I was young, we admired the person with the most painful life. Wanna know why? Because it made them beautiful. Now this isn't beautiful like those super models on TV and those cheeky girls in movies. I don't like those cheeky girls in those films. No, it made them beautiful because they learned how to endure life and its agony. They knew how to appreciate the little things in life. They were deep, meaningful, beautiful people. Happiness without suffering for a while is hollow. It's empty. Empty is not beautiful. Are you listening? Empty is not beautiful. I'm tired of finding these young people looking to escape when there's so much to learn in this life. One day you're going to thank the pain for giving you the guts you needed to go through life with your head held up high. Pain is important, you understand? It gives you guts, it gives you wings.
Me: Your curry is boiling.
Her: Oh. Yes. Pass me that red spice.

(Reblogged from mehreenkasana)

Pakistan Journey

What if I tell you I have been up all night long and seeing this beautiful sunrise from the basement of house? Leaving for Naraan in few hours is somewhat giving me heartaches. Already Yawning.

Fall of Loss

mypoeticrambling:

Hazy awakening

Right after awful sleep,

Creeps upon my eyes

Stretches itself

And makes them wet

Handful of shed

Bears the dot of err

Curse

Malfeasance

And

Yawns

Oh, I am bored again

..

If it doesn’t rain

I might run

In the boulevard

Hither and thither

Cold and bitter

But

White will always look for black

Bonds must meet some cracks

Not every season is of rain

And..

Not every fall is for gain

I believe.

Maliha Haider

May 31st, 2011.